Rainy day
by cornwallace
Summary: A cautionary slash romance about the dangers of overly analytical behavior.
1. Part one

It's times like these that I start to wonder how things had ended up like this.

He's smoking a cigarette in the chair next to the window, right leg crossed over the left as he gazes outside, over his shoulder.  
Light spilling in, splashing him across his beautiful face and neck.

Don't get me wrong. I do think he's beautiful.

"Sonic?" I call out to him from across the room, closing my book and setting it down on the couch cushion next to me.

"Yes, love?"  
His eyes don't leave the window.

"I'm getting a drink. Do you want anything?"

He snaps out of his daze and eyes me seductively.

"Surprise me," he says, winking.

I catch myself blushing, so I nod quickly and scurry into the kitchen.  
There's a moment when I force the corkscrew into the top of the wine bottle where I pause for a moment. And for the durations of that moment, it's as if the world pauses with me.  
I lose myself within this moment.

* * *

"**Part one, the song's begun.**

_around and around, the needle slinks._  
_and with each passing bar -_  
_the circle shrinks._  
_round and round and round she goes_  
_and if reversed, the circle grows_."

* * *

He wasn't okay. You could tell that just by looking at him. Just by listening to him talk.

He called and asked if I wanted to come over and drink.  
His voice, breaking as he spoke to me. I was worried. I asked him if he was okay and he lied to me. I asked him if he was okay, and he said yes.

He said yes.

I didn't really drink at the time, but I knew something was dearly wrong with him, so, I obviously needed to see him. I didn't know why he needed me. I had no idea what he needed me for.  
What I didn't know was how much this moment would effect my life.

Were going back and doing it again a possibility, would I do it again? Would I still hurt and suffer as much as I did?

"If I didn't have a child with her, this would be so much easier," he says, filling the shot glasses and sliding one my way. I sip the coke quietly and knock it back, chasing with more coke. I am definitely a lightweight. I bet I look so weak. "Things would be so different. I could just walk away, no regrets. She doesn't even inspire me anymore, and I honestly haven't even found her attractive in a long time."

I didn't know what this meant, or where he was going with it, so I don't say anything. As per usual.

"I could just walk away," he says, mumbling to himself absent-mindedly. "I could just drop everything and just walk away."

"Why don't you?" I ask, looking up at him, timidly. I'm very nervous. I can feel my heart pounding against the inside of my chest. "She can't take the kid from you permanently. You're a celebrated public figure. A very respected one. You hold all of the cards, not her. You can walk away from this mess, Sonic, and you can easily find someone else, someone who DOES inspire you, who DOES attract you, somebody who understands and appreciates who you are. Like a best friend, rather than a rival. And you two will take care of your daughter and everything is gonna be-"

That's when I feel his hand on my sleeve. All I can see is he and I, what little of the bar illuminated by the hanging lamp, swinging back and forth. The rest is all shadows.

He's looking up at me, staring at me with shimmering, bloodshot eyes.  
Lip quivering, like a guilty child.  
He looks broken.

Pat him om the shoulder, because I don't know what else to do. He was always the one calming me down, helping me rationalize, to think, to get my mind back. And now it's him asking me for help and I don't know.

I really don't know what to do.

"You're a great guy, Sonic," I say, getting up and wrapping my arms around him, hugging tightly.

I'm only trying to cheer him up.

"You've got a lot going for you, you know. Don't let this destroy you."

He sniffles, backing up slightly, his crying eyes piercing my soul through my own. I am made nervous.

"Everything will be O.K."

And that's when the swinging overhead light goes out.

"Tails?" he whispers.

Doorknob turning, hinges creaking through my very soul causing chills to run through my spine.

"Y..yeah?"

Tugging gently at my sleeve, he reels me towards him through the darkness.

And that was our first kiss.

* * *

From whiskey to wine.  
I snap out of it, shaking my head and filling the glasses, carefully picking them up with my free hand.  
I'm not much for wine, but he fancies himself a connoisseur. It makes him happy when I drink it with him.

I like making him happy.

"Baby?" he calls out from the study. "You all right in there?"

Not exactly sure, ha.

"Coming," I say, walking through the living room carefully, as not to spill wine on our hardwood floors.  
I swear, these man's floors mean the world to him.  
Almost as if he loves them more than he loves me. Heh.

When I return, he's exactly where I left him.  
Staring out the window. Dreaming while awake.  
Quietly set the bottle down on the coffee table, transitioning his glass to my left hand as I carefully tiptoe over to him, kneeling to meet his eye level.

Did the door open or shut?

Carefully tiptoe over to him.  
Raise the glass just under his nose, gently rotating my wrist, forming a light current in the wine.  
He closes his eyes and inhales deeply through his nostrils.  
Mouth closed in a tight-lipped smile as his eyelids slowly part and his pupils fixate on me.

"You're a doll," he says, taking the glass from my hand while standing up. He gets in close and wraps his arm around me, pulling me in close. My head resting against his left shoulder.  
My glass transitions to the left hand.

"Is that a fact?" I ask, closing my eyes.

"Mhm," his fingers grazing the back of my neck, forcing all the fur to stand on end.

"What has such a strong hold on your attention out there?"

"See for yourself."

"Nothing out there but a couple of trees in a field, Sonic," I say, giggling,

"And the sunshine.," he says.

* * *

When he kissed me, I didn't know what to do, so I didn't react. I just kind of sat there and took it.  
I wasn't attracted to him, was I?  
I don't even, I.. Never even considered being with a man. This all hits me like a tidal wave and leaves me paralyzed, shocked.

The only thing, though, the only thing making any kind of sense in this mess of unorganized thoughts was that I can't hurt this man, I can't do it, so I don't kiss back and I don't pull away, but...

But he does.  
He pulls away and can't look me in the eye.

"I'm sorry," he says, sniffling. "I'm stupid. I'm really sorry. Please don't hate me."

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything at all.  
Emotions washing over me wave after wave, leaving me only confusion to struggle with. Millions of thoughts like spider eggs hatching in my head. Stop.

Stand up. He's looking at his feet. I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. I grab his arm and softly tug him towards me. He complies by standing up, but he's still looking at his feet.

I'm not attracted to him, right? But.. I want him to be happy. I want him to smile. I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything at all.

My hand finds its way to his chin, lifting his face upward to meet mine. Tears strolling down his cheeks so casually, eyes bloodshot red. You can see the pain in his expression and it breaks my heart.

I've never seen him like this.  
I want it to stop. I want it to go away right now.

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything at all.  
I just tilted my head upward, slightly shifting the weight from my heels to my toes, and I kissed him softly.

And he kissed me back.  
And we kissed again.

I thought I was just loneliness. The rebound. I never thought it would last. I just did what I felt was right. Temporary solutions to temporary problems, right?

Temporary, that's what I was thinking at the time. Temporary.

* * *

I'm still looking out the reason when I feel his breath against my neck.  
He's kissing me softly, tongue lightly grazing the length of my neck, sending chills down my spine. I know what he wants. I close my eyes and down my wine. He gently pries the glass from my hand, and sets it down on the coffee table next to his before returning to me.

"I love you, Miles Prower," he whispers into my body.

"I love you, too, Sonic."

What am I supposed to do?  
Tell you that I love you but I'm not in love with you?  
Tell you that I want you to be happy and all, but I'm not gay and we can't be together.

I don't know what to do, so I kiss his neck, too.  
Then I kiss his collarbone.  
Then I kiss my way down his chest as I sink to my knees.  
Then I unzip his pants.

Then, I guess, I suck him off. Zoning it all out as I plant light kisses and gentle licks against his hardening cock.

I take the easier, less painful way out and I don't say anything. I do what he wants to make him happy. Gagging on his length, neck muscles starting to ache slightly as I keep up the pace. When it gets too tired, I take him out of my mouth, jerking him off. Tongue tracing his head. Looking up at him. His eyes closed as he pants and moans under his breath. Sigh happily and get back to work, suppressing my gagging as best I can. At least I'm doing something good for someone. Have to look at it like that. I make him cum down my throat and it goes down harshly. But it makes him smile.

I guess I'm not repulsed by the idea of intimacy with him. It doesn't disgust me. I guess that's why it works.

I don't know if I want this. I don't know if I'm comfortable with these sides of us meeting. I'm terrified and I don't know why.  
He smiles down at me and helps me up. He gives me a kiss on the cheek.

He looks me dead in the eye and traces his finger in a circular motion across my lips.

"Would you like another drink?"

"Sure," I say.

He went from whiskey to wine.  
He went from trying to forget to wanting to celebrate.

He loves it when I drink wine with him, and I do like making him happy.

But I can't help but notice that I have more of a taste for whiskey these days.

* * *

"Are you okay, Tails?"

"Yeah," I say. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Honest injun."

"What does that even mean?" he asks, giggling.

"I don't know," I say. I smile at him. "Well, I mean, it conveys truthfulness, but nobody can tell me why. It's something I've heard the humans say. They don't even know what it means, at least as far as I can tell. I imagine it's something they just brought from their planet and the why got lost in translation."

"You're really smart," he says, rolling over, laying his head on my chest. His spikes poking me. You get used to it. "You analyze everything, huh?"

"Shucks. I just think too much is all."

"Modest, too. No wonder I love you."

He lifts himself up, planting his hands on either side of my body and crawling up to up to meet me at eye level.  
Hovering over me.  
Eyes sparkling.

I feel my heart rate start to pick up, drawing in slow and shaky breaths.

"You do a lot for me," he says, his right hand stroking its way down my left side. "It's been awhile since I've done anything for you."

His voice dropped to a low whisper. His fingertips oh-so-gently grazing my flesh and fur, almost tickling me, causing me to writhe and twitch. His touch is brilliant.  
If only I wanted this. If only I wanted him.

I want to want this.  
He's so good to me and I care about him so much.  
I want to need this.

But I don't.  
I can't.  
I want to, but I can't.

"You do enough for me," I tell him.

I'm not sure I want this.  
But he is.

I think about how wrong this is and how we shouldn't be doing this, we should be friends, our relationship is different, but sometimes I can't help but wonder, I can't help but just think I'm overthinking this. I don't understand emotions, I don't even understand how I feel, how can I take care of him emotionally?

"But you're saaaaaaaaad!" he giggles playfully. "You do all this sweet stuff for me, the least I could do is return the favor."

His hand grinding against my crotch, rubbing me. His warm, hot breath pelting against my neck.

"What's wrong?" He breathes into me. "Don't I turn you on?"

Ha.  
Haha.  
Oh, wow.

"It's not that," I tell him, desperately trying to think of what does turn me on at the moment. I don't know. I really don't anymore, I'm so confused.  
I think of the only girl I ever had a crush on. Fiona. I feel awful.  
It doesn't come.

"What is it, then?" he asks, kissing his way down my neck, my torso, my body. I think of Fiona, I try to think of Fiona, her body, her curves.  
The way she spoke to me. Her eyes.

Nothing comes from it. I don't know what turns me on anymore.

"I don't know," I say.

"Yes you do," he replies in between licks along my inner thigh.

Whine.

Closing my eyes, picturing Fiona naked, his face flashing in single frames. His eyes closed, mouth open. His hand placed gently on the side of my face, fingertips grazing my cheek.  
I'm afraid. Alone. Confused.  
Confused is a good word.

Fiona. Sonic.  
I start to stiffen.

He's trying. He's going down on me, seemingly to no effect. I try to block this out of my mind.

He wants to make me happy. He loves me. I want to make him happy. I want to pretend.

What is this?

Stop.

STOP.

"I'm not gay," I blurt out. Oh, fuck. Did I just say that. Did that just happen.

It's surreal, like there's a filter. Like looking through a camera.

He stops, confused. I can't tell how he feels. Maybe he can't, either.

"What?"

"I'm not gay," I tell him. "I'm not... I don't think I'm gay. I don't think I ever have been."

He laughs, wanting to believe it's a joke, but he knows it isn't.

"What are you talking about?"

The truth. Telling him the truth is the right thing to do. Right?

God, how long has it even been?

"I don't know. I'm sorry," I say, looking away. I can't make eye contact. I can't look him in the eye. This is too painful. "I just wanted to comfort you, to make you happy again and... I don't know."

He lifts himself to the sitting position. His waist right next to mine, his legs dangling off the bed. He turns away from me and it breaks my heart.

"You were just.." he says, pausing, hanging his head, "pretending to love me?"

"No," I try to tell him. "It's not like that, I swear. I do love you, I really do. I care about you. I just don't know how to handle this. I didn't want to hurt you, I didn't want to push you away and tell you no when you kissed me. I wanted to make it okay again. To make you happy. I'm so sorry, I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing."

He just stares at the floor quietly. The silence is killing me.

"Get out," he says abruptly.

"What?"

"I'm not gonna force you into anything ever again."

"No, Sonic," I whine. "It's not like that."

"Get out of my house."

"Sonic, I-"

"I don't want to hear it. Take what you need to, just please get the fuck out of my house. Now."

He's never spoken to me like this before. I've never seen him act like this towards anyone. I guess I deserve it.  
Something breaks inside of me. He can't look at me and I can't look at him.  
I get up off the bed and walk to the bedroom door, turning the knob and pulling it open. Pause and look back to his slumped over, broken figure on the bed.

"I love you, Sonic."

"Hah."

His head hanging over his lap.  
He's got nothing left to say to me and doesn't really want to hear anything I have to say to him.

So, with that, I turn to face forward, walk out the door and leave it open behind me.


	2. Part two

"**Part two, we continue**

_each tiny groove the needle fill_  
_contains within what smaller still_  
_analogous ariel _  
_becomes a paper_  
_with a hole._"

* * *

It's like glass.  
Life, I mean. At least in my experience.

It's like glass. One small crack can lead the whole structure to shatter.

Why does everything always seem to fall apart at once?  
Maybe that's just me.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I find something I like and I find a reason not to like it. I wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't his fault. This isn't what I wanted. I can't stop thinking about him.  
It was my fault. I do this to myself. Maybe I really was happy with that life and just confused about being that way.  
Maybe I am gay. The more I think about it, the less I find girls attractive. Maybe I never did.

I don't know.  
He's all I can think about.

"Another glass, sir?"

"Sure," I tell the waiter.

A whole table to myself and I'm not eating.  
Just sitting here, scribbling down my thoughts in an old composition notebook. Drinking wine.

What am I? Who am I? For someone who thinks too much about everything, there isn't much I truly understand.  
No conclusions, no ideas. Just more questions.

I'm no genius. I just think a lot. Everyone does. It's no gauge of intelligence.

You ever look at a half empty glass of wine?  
Half full? I don't know. I'm trying.

You ever look at a glass of wine that's at half capacity?  
More than that, have you ever looked at the world through a glass of wine at half capacity?

Through the top half, the clear half, you can see things pretty much how they are. There are some interesting curves, it's warped here and there, but you can see things pretty much how they are. Through the bottom half of the glass, you can't make out much of anything at all. A dark red reflection. Completely upside down and distorted.

And for some reason, it draws my eye moreso than the top does. What's in plain sight. I look through the bottom of the glass.  
It's fucked up, but it's pretty. It's beautiful.

It's broken and appealing.

That's a metaphor for my life, I think.  
I'm sorry, I'm drunk. I don't know what I'm saying.

* * *

You were there, you were there for me and there were some really great moments.  
I think about you as I stagger down the dark alleyway. Stepping as cautiously as I stride towards the light on the street.  
Your smile. The faces you made. Your laughter. Your exes. Those big, green eyes. I miss it. I miss all of you.

To think, I almost hated you for a second. I wonder what came over me.

I wonder if you're thinking about me right now.  
How selfish. God.  
Do I even believe in god?

I don't think so, but part of me wishes I did.

I can feel myself degrading.  
All of it, everything. Falling apart.  
Breaking down over time to nothing more than the particles I'm comprised of.

Fuck.

What am I?  
Who am I?  
Why does any of this matter?

Maybe I'm not afraid of Sonic, maybe I'm not afraid of loving him or what he has to offer, maybe I'm not afraid that things are moving so quickly and maybe, just maybe, it's not a question of my sexuality, the way I feel or who I feel it for.

No.  
It was all so obvious, so blatant, so midlead. Focusing on the mechanics of it, holy fuck, that's what breaks you. What ruins it.

I'm afraid of myself. It's me that ruins it. How could I be so stupid?!

It's like a question mark hitting a wall.

I'm falling apart and fixing myself at the same time.  
This is.. not a feeling I'm used to.

I'm not sure I understand, I say.  
Did I just say that out loud?

Fuck. I'm not sure.

My head hurts.

Crumbling, crumbling to my knees.  
It's not supposed to go this way.  
I can make it. I can do this, I say to myself. Or maybe I didn't. I can't be sure.

I want to say I'm sorry. I want to say that out loud and I want Sonic to hear it.

However, I am unable.

Tumbling into the darkness.

Consumed by shadows.

Regret.  
Failure.

The sun has set.  
Artificial light. Guide my path.  
If I can walk it.

Tired. Falling apart.

Corrosion.

Try not to think about it. Try not to collA

p - p

s - -

e

* * *

I'm at the edge of the pond and all I can see is a vague reflection of everything. And the water is red, red like wine, or red like blood and I can't tell, I'm so afraid, afraid to just

* * *

There are times to hold on.  
There are times to let go.  
There are times, most times, when it becomes unclear what you should do.

The line begins to blur.

I can't see myself in the whiskey, I know it's whiskey but it looks like wine and the rabbit, the rabbit is dancing, singing and humming to herself. Words I can't understand. Faces I don't recognize, faces I can't even really make out.

She's still singing and dancing when she speaks to me.

_**I remember you from a past life**_, she says.  
Laugh her off.

* * *

let go and

* * *

_**You're not drinking that whiskey, **_she says._** That whiskey is drinking you.**_  
_**There are angels and devils. They exist within your soul. Your demons are born of your fears, your anger, your hatred. **_  
_**You make your own hell.**_

She's stopped singing. She looks me dead in the eye. Approaching. Smiling.

* * *

I'm kneeling down at the edge of the pond and I'm looking into my own distorted reflection and I can't make out my features, I'm a broken silhouette, and I'm thinking to myself, thinking maybe too hard about just how realistic this picture is to me as opposed to anything and everything else I could possibly see with my own two eyes.

And I dive in head first  
and I take a deep breath

but it doesn't satisfy me.  
it's not like choking, it's like fading away.

what is coming over me?

* * *

In the alleyway, monsters surround me. A trashbag pillow beneath my head, I can't seem to move. I'm broken, I've lost it, I can't seem to compensate.

Hahaha. Haha. Hahahahaha.

The monsters want to eat me.  
They want to destroy me.

It all comes crashing down in an avalanche of confusion.  
I am destroying myself.

* * *

When I wake up, I reach for you, but you aren't there.  
Just a garbage bag.

Was I reaching after I woke up, or was it clutching a garbage bag that brought me back to consciousness?

I only have him on my mind, either way.

I guess that's when you know things are bad. Falling asleep in garbage when you have a home to go back to.

Maybe you just don't care at that point.  
I don't know.

Force myself to my hands and knees and crawl out into the sunlight. The warm rays splashing against my face, I breathe in deep as if surfacing from drowning.

It's all cracking, cracking at the seams and if I let it go on for much longer, it will shatter, it will all break.  
It will all fall apart.  
I'm on my knees and looking up into the sun.  
Staring.  
I know I'm not supposed to do that, but I am.  
I see a dark blue circle with a ring of light around it.  
And everything around it is dark.  
Or maybe it isn't, and that's just the only thing I can focus on, and that's why everything else is dark.  
I don't know.

I really don't.

* * *

I find myself pausing at the front door. When I pause for this moment, it's as if the world pauses with me.

Life is a series of moments. Memories are just as real as dreams. They're not there anymore and you can't truly change them. You can distort anything, though, and like dreams, memories have a tendency to distort themselves.  
I don't want that to happen with my memories of him. It's at this moment, standing at his front door with a bundle of blue roses and a bottle of wine, that it occurs to me that the moments we shared, even the ones where I was uncomfortable, they were perfect the way they happened. The rain falls hard all around me, and still, I let out a sigh of relief through my smile.

I open the door and walk in, coddling the flowers and the bottles in my arms like infants.

"Sonic?" I call out to the still and quiet house. For a second, I think it might be empty until I hear a sharp crack coming from the study.

Oh..  
He's still angry..

I feel really bad. Really stupid, even, as I make my way to the study, holding the roses tight against my chest.  
I never thought I'd say this, but I hope he takes me back. I hope I can make it up to him.  
I really hope he still wants me. Still loves me.

I love you, Sonic the hedgehog. I always have and always will.

That's why my heart's beating so hard when I open the door to the study.  
I expect to see my same old Sonic, just where I left him. I expect to apologize and to tell him how I really feel. Tell him I love him, that I want him, that I need him. That I really want to be with him. I was so stupid.

But I don't see my same old Sonic. I see someone else.  
I see someone else masturbating on top of his hollowed out, mutilated corpse while the entrails of my same old Sonic swing from the ceiling fan, spraying lines and droplets of blood all over the room, walls and floors, in a circular motion.

"Oh god," is all I can manage to choke out before I drop the flowers and the wine and rush over and push the sick fuck off of his remains and fall to my knees. "No! Nononono NO! NO!"

"Yes," he says in between shrill giggles, rising to has feet above me.  
He has a gun in one hand. He picks a knife up off the floor.

He's a fox. Face painted black, eyes still bright orange, like mine. The smile on his face, twisted. Contorted. A broken smile to match a broken man.  
He laughs crazily while, I can't help it, I break down, sobbing like a child.

"Why?" I ask him. I have to know. "Why the fuck would you do something like this?"

His fingers rubbing his small dick around the handle of the knife.  
The look on his face, deranged.  
He releases his throbbing member and with his right hand, the hand with the knife in it, reaches over and touches the side of my face.

I lean back, trying to pull away, but he follows.

:"Why?" he asks. "You wanna know why?"

Tears rolling down my cheeks, soaking the fur on my face. Sniffling, trying to collect myself, I looke up at him as I feel the thin edge of the cold blade gently runs against the side of my cheek and down the outline of my face. His fingers rubbing against my lips, tracing them.

"Yes."

"Because he was queer," he says, bringing the blade up the center of my face, the tip of the knife resting against my nose. "I don't like queers. You aint queer, is you?"

And he starts laughing.  
My entire world has been taken away from me.  
This can't be real.  
I look up into his eyes, and in the dark of his pupils, all I can see is Sonic and I.

Sonic and I holding hands on a plane of existence that isn't our own.

"Yeah," I say, closing my own eyes. "I'm queer, alright."

And in the darkness of my own head, I wait for Sonic, but he's already there.

He's always been there for me.


End file.
